Sorcerer's Moon (29 page)

'Please don't move or attempt to use sorcery on me,' Beynor said. 'I'd rather not kill
you. I'm going to let you talk to me, but if you cry out for help, you're a dead man.'

The grip on his chin relaxed. 'It hurts!' Kilian moaned.
'Stop pressing that nerve in my shoulder, for the love of God!'

The excruciating clavicular pang eased off. But Kilian, who had been trained as a physician in the Order of Zeth, knew it could be renewed again in an instant. The merciless fingers were still in place.

‘I didn't think the strictures of Bazekoy's pearl would stop you for long,' the chancellor gasped. 'But . . . physical violence?'

'Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are best! Now tell me, my one-time friend: have you had any contact with the Salka Eminences during the years we were apart?'

'The Master Shaman Kalawnn and I bespoke one another a few times rather early on - not long after I became a close adviser to King Somarus. Kalawnn wished to discuss the Known Potency. He'd not yet learned how to activate it, you see. Ironcrown's navy bombarded Dawntide Citadel and destroyed the relevant archival tablet before the monsters finished studying it.'

'So you told Kalawnn about another source of information?'

'Two, actually,' said the former Doctor Arcanorum, 'written in the Salka language, of course. One lies in Zeth Abbey. I discovered that volume during my imprisonment there - a thing of mysterious provenance, purported to be a copy of a book written by Conjure-King Rothbannon himself. It was quite inaccessible to the Salka, of course. Unfortunately, there was no way I could get my hands on it, either.'

'And the second source was the original book, kept in the library of the Glaumerie Guild in Fenguard Castle,' Beynor stated. 'You only suspected it might be there, but your guess was a good one. I'd told you often enough about how Rothbannon got hold of his Seven Stones but forbore
activating the Potency out of prudence. The rulers of the Conjure-Kingdom, myself included, have always known how to bring the Potency to life. The great mystery involved the Potency's operation. No one knew what it would do, save that it was likely to be mortally dangerous. Rothbannon himself was too cautious to activate it. Only when I deciphered the Salka archival tablet did I learn details of the sigil's functions.'

‘I was not fool enough to tell Kalawnn about Rothbannon's book without demanding a reward,' Kilian said. ‘I was promised five minor sigils of my choice, activated and then touched by the Potency so that I'd be able to use them without paying a pain-price to the Lights.'

Beynor laughed. A familiar bargain! 'Which did you choose?'

'An Interpenetrator, a Concealer, a Stunner, a Longspeaker, and a Wound-Healer. As agreed, I sailed to Fenguard in a heavily armed man o' war. My two most trusted associates, Niavar and Cleaton, accompanied me into the castle. A third man of mine, Garon Curtling, remained aboard the ship, which was moored in the Darkling River estuary with its port batteries aimed at the city. The captain had orders to bombard the castle and its environs with tarn-blaze munitions if an alarm was bespoken by me to Garon, or if I and my companions failed to return within two hours.'

The chancellor went on to describe what happened next. He and his underlings met the Four Eminences in the strangely remodeled throne room. A golden box holding the promised minor sigils, already glowing with uncanny life, was displayed to the humans. Five subordinate Salka, who had activated the stones and were thus bonded to them, demonstrated that the magical tools were in working order.

At this point, Kilian decided to trust Kalawnn, since there seemed to be no motive for treacherous dealing. He explained his hypothesis of the Guild library probably containing Rothbannon's original book about the Seven Stones.

The Eminences thought the idea was promising, but pointed out that the library had been sealed for safekeeping ever since the Salka invasion, since the paged books kept there would not stand examination by slimy Salka tentacle-digits. The place would have to be searched by humans -and the two-hour time span might not allow enough time for the task.

A problem easily solved: Kilian extended the deadline.

Within three hours the book was found. While Niavar and Cleaton held it open, Master Shaman Kalawnn intoned the lengthy conjuration that finally brought the Known Potency to effulgent life . . . inside the Salka leader's own gizzard.

Kilian and his companions were struck dumb with terror when the monster's throat glowed crimson, thinking that some catastrophe had occurred and Kalawnn was being consumed from within by astral fire. But the other Eminences only uttered ear-splitting contrabass chuckles.

The Conservator of Wisdom explained the unusual method of safeguarding the Stone of Stones. Then Kalawnn took up the golden box, opened wide his gigantic fanged maw, and dumped the box's contents down his gullet with a single neat flick. There was a brief bright flare, and then the glow in the Master Shaman's throat died away.

He spat out the minor sigils without ceremony and proffered them in their box to Kilian, who stared at the things dumfounded. They glowed softly green beneath a coat of slimy ichor - still alive, and presumably now free of any pain-debt to the Lights. But weren't they still bonded to the Salka who had originally activated them?

'You're understandably reluctant to take them up,' the Conservator of Wisdom said gravely. 'I have summoned a volunteer to demonstrate that the stones may now be handled safely by one who is not bonded to them, as was stated in the part of our archival tablet that we managed to decipher.'

The tall doors to the throne room swung open and two very large amphibians wearing the golden gorgets of military officers entered. They escorted a third Salka of woebegone aspect, whose tentacles were manacled with chains that seemed made of clear crystal.

'Krevalawnn, the test has been explained to you,' said the venerable Eminence. 'Pluck forth these sigils from their box and place them on the table.'

Trembling like a colossal blackish-green pudding with saucer-sized red eyes, the prisoner obeyed. When nothing at all happened to him, he exclaimed, 'Then I am free?'

'You are,' the Conservator affirmed. He gestured and the chains fell to the throne-room floor, their clatter muffled by the half-decayed layer of kelp that formed an odoriferous carpet.

As the officers led the volunteer away, the Conservator replaced the five minor sigils in the box himself, closed the lid, and handed it to Kilian. 'Our bargain comes to a satisfactory conclusion. And now you and your companions must make haste to board your ship before the tide turns. It would be dangerous for you to be caught in the Darkling Estuary at the ebb.'

‘I have a final suggestion,' the Master Shaman said to Kilian. 'Even though these stones of yours are no longer connected to the pain-channels of the Sky Realm, they still partake of its powers. It would be prudent to use them circumspectly - only for serious reasons.'

* * *

'I agreed, and that was that.' The Lord Chancellor's voice had grown faint and raspy. 'Would you please consider releasing your hold on me now? Even without the nerve-pinch, being constrained in this fashion is very uncomfortable for one as old as I.'

'In a moment,' Beynor said. 'So you sailed home with the liberated sigils in your possession?’

‘Yes.'

'And where are they now?'

Kilian began to laugh, a sound more dismal than mirthful. 'On a dusty cabinet shelf in my laboratory, where I relegated the accurst things after discovering the truth.'

'The ... truth? You mean, they were useless? The Salka lied?'

'No, the monsters may have acted in good faith. They might not have known that an active sigil touched by the Potency will work only
once
after being rendered pain-free.'

'Once?' Beynor was incredulous. His own researches had hinted at no such thing. If it were true, his strategy would have to be changed.

'It's only logical, after all,' Kilian said. 'When the Beaconfolk discover that the stone no longer feeds their hunger, they refuse to empower it further.' He bit back another cry of pain. 'And now, Conjure-King, I've told you all I know about moonstone sigils. I beseech you. Have pity on me!'

'Of course.'

The voice of the invisible man standing behind him was gentle. His grip on Kilian Blackhorse's chin eased and hope surged in the old alchymist's heart. But before he could conjure an attack-spell he felt the crook of an arm scissor his throat and a mighty blow strike his head at an oblique angle.

His neck snapped, and all thinking and scheming came to an end.

* * *

After consigning the body to the castle moat, from whence it would be carried into the river, Beynor returned to the feast, where no one had noticed his absence. It was the best meal he'd had in twenty years.

CHAPTER
NINE

High King Conrig went to bed alone that night, curtly rejecting the well-meant suggestion of his wife Risalla that she join him for mutual consolation. His tactless dismissal sent the queen away resentful and with hurt feelings; but he scarcely noticed, so infuriated and distraught was he at the defeat of his plan for the betrothal of Orrion and Hyndry.

Not even confirmation of the Salka army's retreat eased his mind. With the monsters now withdrawing, Somarus's loyalty would become more shaky than ever. He and Cuva had been thick as thieves during the feast, no doubt cooking up some fresh trouble. Hyndry's scornful dismissal of Corodon had played right into the Didionite king's fat hands.

Damn her for a pigheaded quiff! Damn Coro for . . . being what he was.

There seemed small chance of changing the mind of the headstrong Princess Royal through the courtship tactic proposed by Kilian. More likely, an unsuccessful public wooing would demonstrate to the entire Sovereignty what most members of the Cathran court already knew: that the new Prince Heritor was a poor second-best to his older twin.

How in God's name could such a handsome, empty-headed booby ever be worthy of the Iron Crown?

Burning with anger and frustration, awake and yet not awake, Conrig thrashed and turned until he sank at last into the strange half-conscious state that had plagued him for months - the nightmare of enemies.

The illusion this time was more vivid and fearsome than ever before. Once again he was trapped in a dim chamber with phantom adversaries on all sides, shrieking and jostling and vying with each other to tear the crown from his head. He laid about with his sword, hewing them to pieces, but no sooner were they hacked limb from limb than they rose up again, whole and stronger than ever.

Enemies. Everywhere.

Salka with clutching tentacles, blood-sucking spunkies, malignant bright Sky beings that tried to drink his pain, a scheming demonic creature, black and blind and immured in ice. And human foes! So many who hated and resented and feared him, persons alive and dead that he'd crushed or oppressed in order to keep that precious Iron Crown.

And now his own son had joined the evil host.

Not wretched Orrion; he was no threat. The enemy was another son, poised to snatch the crown away before any of the other foes realized that he was one of them. But who was he?

He had no face!

Conrig struck a heroic blow with his sword, severing the blank-featured head of the traitor-prince from his body, only to have another head grow up instantly to replace it. The unknown prince and the entire crowd of phantoms closed in, howling in a frenzy of rage and loathing.

Swinging the useless blade, Conrig screamed, 'Why won't you die? Why won't any of you die and leave me in peace?'

Because you are using the wrong weapon.

'Who spoke?' the High King cried in desperation. 'Is there help for me after all?'

There is. I'm here, bringing you what you need: the solution to all of your problems, the defense against all who hate you and would seize your crown.

At the end of his strength, Conrig caught sight of a tall thin man standing at the edge of the melee. He was holding up a small object, a wand of some sort carved from pale stone.
This is what you need to conquer.

'Do I know you?' Conrig asked in bewilderment.

The man smiled. He and the enemies vanished. The nightmare ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the Sovereign of Blenholme slept dreamlessly until morning.

* * *

Deveron woke with Induna nestled against him. They lay on their sides under a warm coverlet, alone together in Eldmama Cray's borrowed cottage. The soft red-gold hair of his wife's head pressed against his lips and his arm caged her breasts gently as they rose and fell with her slow breathing.

Married for almost a day and a half! He thought about it and smiled as he remembered her shy confession on their wedding night: How desperately she had wanted him when they were finally reunited at his house in Mikk-Town. How she despaired when it seemed he'd make the magical journey to the Green Morass without her. More than anything in heaven and earth she had wanted to lie with him at least once before they separated forever. But a Tarnian woman would never take the initiative in such a private matter. It was against all custom for her to voice her desire. Instead she had flung herself into the boat with him as the Subtle Gateway opened, not caring,what might happen to her so long as they remained together. In truth, she had not acted for any rational reason. She only wanted him and
would
have him, even if it meant defying the Source himself
and the terrible Beaconfolk who empowered the Gateway sigil.

She had concluded her confession as he carried her to the marital bed for the first time. 'And now there's no need to ask the unaskable question. No need to explain.'

Nor was there. Both of them were persons of talent. With tacit permission freely given, they could speak wordlessly mind to mind as they consummated the love that had endured for sixteen years.

A night and a day and another night alone together. No one had been able to disturb them. Before departing with Thalassa Dru for the conference with the Source, Cray the Green Woman had taught Deveron how to shield her cottage with an invincible spell of couverture - a special wedding gift to her newfound great-great-grandson and his bride . . .